Quintin Jardine - Deadly Business

If it came to that: her consultant was absolutely sure, she said, that the third course of treatment would see her in remission. I wasn’t as bullish; I’d paid a visit to the man myself and used my nursing experience to interrogate him. I reckoned he wasn’t even absolutely sure that the sun would rise next morning. Now I’m not an oncologist, and although I have worked in that area, I only have a little knowledge … and you know what they say about that. Nonetheless I was worried, for Janet and Jonathan, but also, cravenly, as I will admit, for myself and my lifestyle. Those two kids don’t have a close relative in the world other than their mother and Tom, and my thinking was if anything did happen to Susie, well, I could hardly let them go into an orphanage, could I?

‘Are you all right, Auntie Primavera?’

Janet’s question startled me. ‘What? Yes, of course. When am I ever not all right, kid?’

She smiled. ‘Never, but …’ she hesitated for a second or two before blurting out, ‘I can tell when Mum’s thinking about my father. You looked the same way just now.’

That cut the feet from under me; Tom had said much the same thing to me a couple of years before, when he’d caught me off guard.

I dealt with it as casually as I could. ‘Did I indeed? And who do you imagine I might have been thinking about?’

Wrong move, Primavera. Janet’s face fell; she frowned and bit her lip. ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured. ‘I thought you might have been …’

‘Thinking about him too?’ I said, smiling to ease her embarrassment. ‘As it happens, I wasn’t, but you’re right, I might have been. I do think about him, for the very same reason your mum does, and you do, and Tom does, and wee Jonathan does. Because we all loved him and we all miss him.’

‘You loved him too?’ There was a hint of a challenge in her voice.

‘Of course I did,’ I replied. Janet and I had never shared a ‘big girl’ conversation. I decided that the time had come. ‘I take it that by now you understand the reproductive process,’ I continued, making it into a question with a raised eyebrow.

She flushed a little. ‘How babies are made? Yes, we did that at school a long time ago.’

‘Yeah well … Love has, or should have, a lot to do with that. I’ve had one baby, that’s Tom. I made him with your father. That’s why he’s your half-brother, and I will tell you this, I wouldn’t have wanted to make him with anyone else in the world. So yes, I might not have been very good at showing it sometimes, but I loved him. I’m proud of it too, just as your mum is.’

‘Did he love you?’

I nodded. ‘Yes. He said he did and I believed him. Your father had a great capacity for love, and I don’t mean that sarcastically. He loved me, and he loved your mother and he loved his first wife.’

Her eyes widened, and she gasped. ‘His …’ she began, then fell silent.

Christ on a bike, Primavera! Right off the cliff. Susie hadn’t told her. ‘Yes.’ I looked her in the eye. ‘You father was married three times. The first time was to a girl he grew up with.’

‘What happened to her? He never talked about her, and Mum never has either.’

‘It hurt him too much to talk about her. It hurt him very, very badly.’

I could see her feel his pain. ‘What happened to her?’

‘She died, Janet. There was a simple, one in a million, household accident and she died. It broke his heart.’

She frowned again, a little wince. ‘Once when I was young, I saw him crying. He was sitting in his chair, on his own, and he was crying. He didn’t see me, but it frightened me, so much that I couldn’t ask him why. Do you think that was why? Was he thinking of her?’

I nodded. ‘Probably. He wouldn’t have been thinking of me, that’s for sure.’

She didn’t pursue that. Instead she asked, ‘Did you know her?’

I nodded. ‘Yes I did; she was around when I met your dad. He and I were together for a while, but she was the one.’

‘Did Mum know her?’

‘Yes, they met.’

‘So why has she never mentioned her?’

That was a good question and I reckoned that I knew the answer. If she had, then given her daughter’s perspicacity, it would have opened a whole barrel of worms about that time in her life. Susie had been right to keep the lid on it, and I was going to have to apologise to her for taking it off.

‘I don’t know,’ I lied. ‘You’d have to ask her yourself.’

‘Maybe I won’t.’

‘Your decision, but I think you have to, now that careless old Auntie Primavera’s spilled the beans. There shouldn’t be any secrets between mothers and daughters.’

‘She kept it a secret from me,’ she retorted, resentfully. ‘It involved my father, and she didn’t tell me.’

‘No,’ I countered. ‘The way I see it, she hasn’t told you yet, that’s all. I’ll bet she was only waiting till she judged you were old enough.’

‘Do you really think so?’

‘I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.’

She gave me an appraising look, then nodded. I thought we were done, but no.

‘What was her name?’ she asked.

I’d started, so I had to finish. ‘Jan,’ I told her, ‘short for Janet.’

Her mouth dropped open again. ‘I was named after her?’

‘I wasn’t around when you were named,’ I pointed out, ‘so I can’t say that for certain.’

‘But I was, wasn’t I?’

I smiled, and gave in. ‘For sure, kid, for sure,’ I admitted. ‘How do you feel about that?’

She thought about it for a few seconds, then a slow grin spread across her face. ‘My father named me after his lost love, his childhood sweetheart. I think that’s pretty cool.’

To you, no doubt , I thought, but I wonder what Susie thought about it. Could it be why she’s never spoken a word to you about Janet the First?

She jumped up on to the wall beside me, all arms and legs and red hair. Out of the shaded area, I could see that her face was pink; given her hair colouring and her complexion, her mother had always insisted that she uses fifty-factor sun protection, and leaves nothing uncovered. I did not intend to send her back home sunburned or I’d hear about it.

‘Do you have any Nivea with you?’ I asked.

She shook her head.

‘Then do me a favour. Even though it’s evening now, there’s still power in that there sun. Go back to the house and put some cream on, everywhere that isn’t covered.’ She was wearing shorts and a cap-sleeved T-shirt so that meant most of her. I gave her the key and she headed off, obediently, knowing, no doubt, that whatever her mother chucked at me, she’d get it first. I wondered if Janet ever had rebellious moments at home, for she’s never shown any when she’s stayed with me, not one. I guessed that she must have inherited that virtue from her grandparents, for it hadn’t been evident in either of her parents.

‘Hey, Primavera.’ I looked around, to see Tunè heading towards me with a plate held out before her. ‘You want some?’ she asked me, in Catalan. ‘I didn’t think it was possible that we could make too many sandwiches for Lily and her friends, but it seems that we have. The Nutella ones are all finished, but there’s tomato and cheese spread.’

‘Oh damn,’ I laughed. ‘I was looking forward to a Nutella sandwich.’ I helped myself to a handful from the plate. She smiled with me, as if she thought I’d been kidding, but I wasn’t; they’re my weakness. In Vaive, our beach bar of choice, they have Nutella toasties on the menu now, and I’m the cause.

‘Ben still working?’ I asked her. I’d noted his absence.

‘Yes. He closed the shop for Lily’s birthday, but one of his restaurant customers needed an urgent delivery, so he had to go. He’ll be back soon, though.’